


The Days You Choose

by Violet_Jones



Series: Backdrifting [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Ian, Christmas, Domestic Bliss, Family Bonding, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Holidays, Jock Straps, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pet Names, Public Display of Affection, Thanksgiving, jockstrap!sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: Five to seven months after “Backdrifting” - Ian & Mickey do the holidays together, starting with Thanksgiving and ending with New Years Eve. Christmas gifts may include cute jokes, deep insights, and sexy interludes. A seasonal tale of fluff and smut.Firsts: Mickey tops Ian. Pet names. Holidays with the family. PDA.





	The Days You Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took me so long to get back around to. I had it planned for so long. It was nice to bring it to fruition fi-nal-ly!

Around five months into things with Ian, Mickey suddenly becomes ‘ _babe_.’

The way it begins is completely innocuous. Mickey’s in Ian’s kitchen making a sandwich, and Ian casually hollers out from the other room.

“Hey, babe? Have you seen my green hoodie with the black stripes?”

Mickey’s hand freezes, the mayo on the butter knife he’s holding dripping onto the counter en route to the slice of bread on the plate. He can hear Ian opening and shutting drawers, sighing in frustration, followed by his heavy footsteps on the hardwood as he makes his way to where Mickey is standing like a statue behind the kitchen island.

“Did I leave it at your place?” Ian asks casually.

“What the fuck was _that_?” Mickey counters.

“What was _what_?” Ian inquires, confused.

“Did you just call me baby?”

Ian rolls his eyes and let’s out a deep, exasperated sigh. “No, I called you babe.”

“Which is the shortened version of baby.”

“No, baby is gross, but babe is good. Babe as in like you’re a babe, and you’re _my_ babe, so you’re just babe,” Ian says all matter-of-fact, shrugging.

Mickey tosses the butter knife into the mayonnaise jar, huffing as he sternly crosses his arms. “There some kinda problem with you just continuing to call me Mickey? You know. . . my actual name?”

Ian laughs sarcastically. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Mickey just stares at him unimpressed, shaking his head, biting his lip, and silently asking him to elaborate.

Ian continues, “Red? Firecrotch? Carrot top? Gingerbread? Ring a bell? And you call me Gallagher all the time too, plus all the other random things you come up with when you’re trying to be witty.”

“Those are just nicknames,” Mickey says. “I thought you liked ‘em.”

“I do. I have no problem with them.”

“And you call me Mick all the time.”

“Uhhhh, yeah, cuz that’s your name. I just drop one syllable.”

“‘Kay, so what’s wrong with Mick? Why you suddenly tryin’ to push these generic terms of endearment on me?”

Ian snorts and starts ribbing him. “What, you would prefer something more original, my little muffin top?”

Mickey’s lips quirk ever so slightly for a moment, but he refuses to laugh. “You’re a fuckin’ dick,” he says, without any actual animosity.

Ian smiles wide and pleased, “You seen my fucking hoodie or not, asshole?”

Mickey shrugs and goes back to finishing the preparation of his sandwich. “I think it’s in my laundry at home.”

Ian groans. “Fine. Thanks.” He walks out of the kitchen area, calling back, “Hey, will you make me a sandwich too, please, cupcake?”

Mickey let’s the knife clatter loudly into the sink, and Ian can be heard laughing loudly from the bedroom.

“You’re _not_ fuckin’ funny!” Mickey yells back in a lilting tone, abandoning his food, coming around the kitchen island, and following Ian back to his room.

“Shut up and make me a sandwich, bitch!” Ian teases. When he sees Mickey approaching, he adds, “Get back in the kitchen!”

Mickey tackles him to the bed and lunch ends up having to wait.

In order to break Mickey down and get his way, Ian let’s his fucking with Mickey about pet names become a running gag. He especially loves to loudly refer to Mickey as really cheesy, embarrassing things when they’re in random public places, like the grocery store (“HEY SNOOKUMS, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT ASPARAGUS TONIGHT?”), and at the club they frequent (“I’ll have an old fashioned, AND GET ME A DOUBLE OF BULLEIT NEAT FOR MY PRECIOUS BABYCAKES OVER HERE!”), and even in Mickey’s own fucking bar (“HEY SNUGGLE BUNNY, YOU OFF YET?”). He even starts doing it in front of Mandy, which Mickey almost murders him for, because now she’s down with the whole fucking thing, and acting all _in on the joke_ with Ian, and it drives Mickey nuts.

Through it all, he keeps regularly calling Mickey babe. It’s usually when he’s trying to ask him a question, like the first time (“Babe, do you want Chinese tonight, or Thai?”), or when he wants to complain about something (“Baaaaabe, I don’t feel like going to work today!”), or when he’s chastising Mickey for something (“Babe! Stop fucking with your scab or it’ll never heal.”).

That’s how Ian wins. He plays fucking dirty as shit, and he has fun doing it.

  


* * *

  


Mickey’s not sure why the holidays are some kind of official relationship litmus test, but it really feels like they are. Ever since they went over as a big hit on Halloween, they’ve suddenly become this _Official Couple_ _™_ in people’s eyes. They’ve even signed up to appear at three different Thanksgivings for some fucked up reason, all Ian’s doing of course, and he’s not sure how they’re gonna make it. Not that Mickey had to do much of anything. Ian cooked three different dishes, so he could contribute to each meal, while Mickey took the low-key route and chose to pitch in three bottles of $15 wine. He didn’t hang out with anyone who had any kind of palette that deserved more money thrown at it than that. No one would notice the quality difference in anything pricier. If anything, he was being generous by not just doing $10 bottles. At least he wasn’t a complete animal anymore, who would’ve brought one of those giant $5 vinegary piss-water carafes from somewhere no grapes had any business growing, like Nebraska or some shit. Who’s he kidding though, the old him wouldn’t have brought anything at all.

“I can’t believe you’re subjecting us to three separate gatherings of people on one day,” grouses Mickey from the passenger seat, where he’s balancing a sweet potato casserole in his lap. “What a goddamn nightmare.”

They’d borrowed Fiona’s car for the day, since she would be home the whole time anyway, cooking up a storm. Lip was picking up Debs and heading over to the Gallagher house early.

Ian reaches a hand over to squeeze Mickey just above the knee. “Relax, babe.” Mickey rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to share me like at least 75% of the time we spend together. It’s just a handful of hours, really.”

Mickey scoffs. “That ain’t what I meant, dickwad.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just your antisocial default setting roaring back to life.”

“Fuck off. Your people outnumber mine today. I’m allowed to feel weird about hangin’ out with strangers and people who hate me.”

It was Ian’s turn to roll his eyes. “My friends aren’t strangers, you’ve met them and hung out with them multiple times now, and my family doesn’t fucking hate you. . . anymore, or whatever. I mean, you even buried the hatchet with Lip on Halloween. He gave his blessing, and he was your harshest critic.”

Mickey fidgets in his seat, and has to catch the foil-covered glass dish in his lap from sliding off to the side. “Man, just. . . don’t gimme a hard time about this. I barely hang out with your friends or your family, and shit just ain’t. . . you know, comfortable yet.”

Ian smiles and nudges Mickey’s chin. “I get it. I’m better with that shit than you are. It’s not easy for you. Just. . . don’t go in thinking that anyone is against you.”

Mickey hums vaguely as he looks out the window, chewing on the corner of his thumbnail.

First up on the itinerary is Ian’s friend group Thanksgiving, which consists of people from his office and other satellite acquaintances. Mickey’s main fear going in is unbearable small talk. He’ll probably always struggle with having to feign interest in the random thoughts and backstories of people he can’t bring himself to give two shits about. He’s sometimes really bad at pretending.

Ian always seems to be there to rein in Mickey’s emotions, though, or to just plain interrupt and save the day before Mickey can appear maybe as rude as he actually comes off in his worst moments.

Friendsgiving is being held at Ian’s friend John’s apartment. He has a live-in boyfriend with a European accent, and two yippy little dogs that Mickey immediately despises. Not the best way to kick off the day. He heads straight for the bar after politely and awkwardly nodding his head and waving indifferently at the group at large as everyone was introduced to everyone en masse for the benefit of the few who didn’t know one another.

Mickey feels needy and dumb because of the way he’s practically glued himself to Ian’s side. The thing is that he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll just find an actual corner to hide in. He’ll just sit alone somewhere quietly drinking until some rando comes over to chat him up with meaningless invasive questions.

Ian finds Mickey’s moments of vulnerability fascinating. The way he gets around people he doesn’t know well or trust yet, almost small and shy, which are never words he would regularly associate with his boyfriend, it’s just really endearing. He keeps a hand on the small of Mickey’s back, or on his thigh most of the time they’re at John’s. Not because he’s possessive and weird like that, but because he knows it helps ground the man. He can see how much Mickey’s trying for Ian’s sake, and that in and of itself means the world.

So Ian’s friends haven’t really gotten the chance to see the full glory of Mickey and why it is that he has such a hold over him, what did it really matter? Somehow, Ian knew they’d get there in the end.

Ian is pleased when the parmesan artichoke casserole recipe he invented while experimenting one night is a hit with the gays of his life, and he sends a hidden wink and smile at John when he compliments Mickey’s choice in white wine, even though Ian knows for a fact that John despises Rieslings.

They stay at John’s for a couple of hours, then head out to Mandy’s boyfriend’s place, where many of Mickey’s work friends are also gathered.

Ian’s not weird about it in the least, and Mickey starts to feel resentful for a split second, but ultimately he can’t be. He’s comfortable here where he knows practically everyone, and he’s glad that Ian’s cool with it too. They even spend some time circulating without each other, though usually when Ian’s not with Mickey, he’s with Mandy, who’s always insisting she doesn’t see enough of him. Mickey keeps spying her with an arm thrown around Ian’s waist, or her hand in his, and her head on his shoulder. He rolls his eyes and wonders why she’s not more clingy with her own damn boyfriend. But, he supposes she has her own Ian abandonment issues, and he can’t really fault her for that, now, can he?

Mandy’s starting to become a bit giddily tipsy off the mimosas she’s been guzzling non-stop, and Ian watches her face amusedly as her glassy eyes study her brother from across the room.

“He looks really happy, Ian. I kind of can’t believe how good he looks. He’s never looked this good before.” She looks at Ian then, lowering her voice to a kind of stage whisper, “Guess that’s what happens to people when they fall in love. Even Mick.”

“Jesus, Mandy, can you not say that to your brother, please? I don’t need him freaking out because you went and taunted him about his feelings for me.”

“Calm down, drama queen, I’m not stupid. I don’t wanna die today. I’m just. . . glad that you’re together.”

Ian smiles fondly. ”You know we originally got together sorta because of you, back when we were kids.”

“What?”

“Did Mickey ever tell you? About how we first started. . . you know. . .”

“Bumpin’ uglies? Nope. You may find it hard to believe, but Mickey was never too forthcoming with the details when it came to you.”

“Well. . . you remember when you sicced him and your other brothers on me, when you lied about me trying to rape you? What a crazy bitch move, by the way. Not cool.”

“Shut up, I was 15! I'd never been turned down before, and you bruised my little girl ego.”

“Yeah, I was there. Still not justifiable. Anyway. . . you sicced him on me to beat my ass down, and that put me on his radar. He started fucking with me at work, fucking with Kash, just being a dick all the time, like he was back then. And one day, he stole Kash’s pistol right off him, and I was pissed. Felt like a personal vendetta or something.”

“Oh shit. I remember that. I was trying to help you find it.”

“Yeah, so. . . I came over to your place one afternoon, and grabbed a tyre iron, snuck past your fucking passed out dad on the couch, snuck into Mickey’s room and threatened him to give me the gun back. We ended up scrapping, of course, and we were rolling around, throwing punches and whatever, and then suddenly, the vibe just shifted, like out of nowhere. I closed my eyes tight, thinking I was about to get knocked the fuck out with a crowbar, but the blow never came. So I opened my eyes, and Mickey was looking down at me, and I just knew. Then I saw the hard-on in his pants, but I knew it before that. And then we were all over each other, but instead of using our fists, you know. . .”

“Dicks,” Mandy supplies helpfully.

“And asses.”

“What a riveting early romance. I’m sure you can’t wait to tell your children.”

Ian chuckles, shoving her shoulder. “Fuck you. It actually is pretty romantic, considering. . . Hello? Gay kids, South Side, your dad. . . that moron actually walked in on us after we were done. We were still buck-ass naked, but were under the covers by some miracle, and he randomly wandered in to use that goddamn bathroom inside Mick’s old room. I thought he was gonna kill us both, but it all just went right over his head. He still couldn’t even fathom Mickey being gay yet, I guess. Figured out some way to justify what he was seeing in his head. Who the hell knows. But anyway. . . you set the ball rolling. I was always hanging out with you over at the house, meeting up with Mickey in secret. If I hadn’t always been hanging around, I don’t know if he would’ve kept it up with me much longer.”

Mandy socks him in his shoulder then. “Thanks a lot, douchebag! Reducing me to some sorry excuse and cover story so you could fuck my brother behind my back!”

“That’s not true, fuck off. I was your friend first, remember? It’s not like I used you to get to him. Even when Mickey and I were. . . _off_ or whatever, when he was locked up and everything, you and I were still friends. So don’t say that shit.”

Mandy sighs. “Fine. I guess it’s ancient history now, anyway.”

“Guess so,” says Ian.

“But since we’re on the subject, once I put two and two together about Mickey being your mystery guy back then, I realized that your skeevy ass told me intimate details about my own brother that I could’ve gone my entire life without knowing.”

Ian giggles. “Sorry, Mands. I didn’t think you’d ever find out.”

Mandy makes a face. “And I’ll hate you for that until the day I die. It’s your fault that I know he’s a thirsty bottom, for fuck’s sake.”

Ian laughs again, harder this time. “Does he know you know that?”

Mandy glares at him. “You think I’d sit on that kind of valuable information? Guess you don’t know me at all anymore.”

“The fuck are you two yappin’ about over here all animatedly?” the man himself comes over to ask.

“Oh, just the fact that—” Mandy begins.

“Nothing specific,” Ian cuts her off, trying to veer away from a Milkovich bitchfest. “You know us, we just have a good repertoire.”

Mickey snorts into his drink. “Pretty sure you mean _rapport_ , dumbass.” He shakes his head. “Really need to get you that fuckin’ dictionary one of these days.”

“Awww, isn’t he cute?” Ian goads, throwing his arm around Mickey’s shoulders to jostle him as he squeezes him close to his side. “MY SWEET LITTLE GRAMMAR NAZI LOVE DUMPLING!”

Mandy cackles while Mickey pushes Ian away forcefully, face flushed and nostrils flaring. “Fuck off with that shit, you pedantic child.”

Ian’s toothy grin is a mile wide as he tries to pull Mickey back in and tickle his side. It’s a bit of a slap fight, but Mickey inevitably relents with a big sigh, and let’s Ian kiss the side of his neck.

“You fucking nerds,” Mandy says lightly, still smirking.

After their second meal of the day, where Ian’s dish is once again a hit (another fucking casserole, this time green bean), they head out to the old neighborhood to see Ian’s family.

The Gallagher house is at peak frenetic chaos when they arrive, and the couple’s mere appearance seems to stir it up even more.

Ian hands over the halfway cooked sweet potato casserole that Mickey’s been dutifully holding in his lap every car ride today, as he gets swamped with sibling hugs in the middle of the kitchen. Mickey stands uncertainly in the background, until he too gets targeted for simultaneous hugs from the youngest Gallaghers. Luckily the older ones just grin and wave. Little Penny stays gripping at his pant leg, gazing up at him with her big eyes that look a lot like Ian’s, while idly chewing on her other hand. They have a bit of a staring contest for a beat too long to be comfortable, and just when Mickey’s about to ask what the hell she’s looking at, and maybe lean down to pick her up, Debbie appears, chuckling and steering her small daughter towards the living room.

Ian of course didn’t miss any of the interaction, and is beaming at him like a lunatic when he catches his eye again. Mickey fights the urge to flip him off, and shrugs off his coat, taking Ian’s as well, then heading back to the entryway to set them with the others, and grabbing Ian’s backpack, which has his final wine offering in it. As he opens the bag and sifts through it, he watches Carl and Liam roughhouse their way to the living room couch and settle in to play video games. Apparently the Gallaghers aren’t a football family, which Mickey’s pretty grateful for. Sports can suck his dick.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, where Ian has already joined the cooking line with Fiona and Debbie, and hands over the bottle of Malbec he bought to the matriarch.

Fiona rolls it in her hand a couple times, then flashes him one of her big, brilliant smiles, “Pretty label. I’m sure it tastes great. Thanks, Mickey!”

He nods. “Thanks for cookin’.”

“You want me to open this now, or you want a beer?” she asks, as she goes back to stirring something in a big mixing bowl.

Mickey shrugs. “Beer’s good.”

“In the fridge,” she says. “Don’t worry, Lip bought it.”

He chuckles at that. “Cool.”

As he approaches the kitchen table with his beer, Lip looks up from his phone with a teasing smile, and speaks with a terrible faux British accent, “‘Sup, Dodger! Where’s me porridge?”

Mickey flips him off as he swigs from the bottle, and settles into the chair to Lip’s left, facing the flurry of activity.

Ian had been struck with a brilliant idea for Halloween, based on his and Mickey’s first date. He was gonna go as the manliest possible version of Little Orphan Annie, and Mickey was gonna go as the Artful Dodger from _Oliver Twist_. It had taken considerable convincing from Ian to get him to finally go along with dressing up. The most Mickey had ever done in the past was don a mask he mostly ended up wearing on top of his head all night, rather than his face. Ian had made it sound too fun, though, and got a kick out of it being their own inside joke, so Mickey figured what the hell. It’s not like he was gonna be the one in the embarrassing costume.

He’d been skeptical of Ian’s purposefully shitty drag idea until he actually saw it all put together. It was pretty fucking magical when all was said and done. He’d grown out his stubble into a bit of a light beard, and Debbie had sewn white accents and black buttons onto the bright red shift dress he’d ordered, and he even got the lace-trimmed white girl’s socks, and the classic black patent leather Mary Janes. Once the ridiculous curly orange wig was on top, it was a sight to behold. He’d ended up getting huge laughs all night long, from friends and strangers alike, and for the first time, Mickey had actually found himself enjoying seeing Ian as the center of attention.

Seeing as how Mickey looked like any generic old-timey guy from the 19th century, people actually had to ask him who he was supposed to be. People’s reactions were moderate to meh, for the most part, but Ian kept looking at him like he was the best thing ever, so he didn’t much mind what anyone else thought. But then, they’d arrived at the Gallagher’s as their final destination of the evening, after circuiting through some parties at the downtown clubs. To say that they were all delighted to see Mickey Milkovich dressed in knickerbockers, waistcoat, and top hat, accented with a cravat tied in a bow around his neck was a significant understatement. Sure, Ian was still stealing the show with his short, gruff renditions of ‘Tomorrow,’ but the family was clearly taken aback at seeing Mickey show his playful side.

Lip had been especially into it, to Mickey’s surprise. He was pretty sure Ian had given his older brother one or two speeches about being civil to his boyfriend in spite of Lip’s natural urge to abhor him, but Mickey was still shocked that they’d yet to end up in a verbal altercation that escalated until it came to blows. Instead, Lip had initially ribbed on him about being illiterate, then gotten his ass handed to him when he’d tried to stump Mickey with Dickens quotes. Getting one over on him on an intellectual level seemed to be exactly the kind of douchebag trick needed to gain the asshole’s respect, at least to whatever degree that was possible. ‘Death, fires, and burglary make all men equals,’ was one of Mickey’s favorite quotes. Who knew it could be such a statement of conciliation?

“Where’s what’s-her-face?” Mickey asks him as Lip types on his phone.

“Meghan? Textin’ her right now,” says Lip. “Too early to bring her around for family holiday shit. Didn’t wanna give her the wrong idea.”

“Why not, Philip? Didn’t pass your IQ prerequisite test? Sucks in bed? What’s wrong with her?”

Lip snickers. “She went to Princeton, man, she’s definitely got the brains, it’s just. . . I don’t know, the sparks aren’t there, or whatever. It’s never gonna be serious.”

After a lot of dicking around when he’d first gone to college, Lip had graduated from the University of Chicago and proceeded to attend MIT. He’s now an engineer at a robotics company downtown, and he lives in a fancy penthouse on the North Side. Mickey’s not seen it yet, though Ian’s described it at length. He also knows Lip flies to Silicon Valley a lot for work, and that he’s not quite faithful when he takes those trips.

“You’re one of those dudes who strings girls along because you can’t stand to be alone, huh?”

Lip shakes his head. “You want me to ask you questions about your relationship with my little brother next?” he challenges.

Mickey takes another pull on his beer. “Nah, man, I’m good. Ain’t so little, though.”

“Was that a dick joke?” asks Lip.

“I don’t know, was it?” Mickey smirks. “How many inches does he have on you now?” He arches one eyebrow in that way that Ian says is perfect.

Lip looks like he wants to laugh, but doesn’t. “Fuck you, shithead.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Mickey says, licking his lips as he watches Ian playfully sprinkling flour in Debbie’s face.

A couple hours later, the Balls come crashing into the house after returning from Vee’s mom’s house, and the volume goes up yet again. The din around the finally seated dinner table is as loud as Mickey’s bar on an average day. But Ian looks really pleased, so he tries not to mind and just focus on the people nearest him, meaning that most of the conversation is unfortunately being steered by Carl who’s directly across from him, and Kev who’s at his right. Occasionally Ian, at his left, reaches over to caress his thigh, or rub his back, and Mickey thinks about how little he minds it. How he’s come to actually expect it, and even want it. He could listen to hours of conversation more inane than the dumbest shit he heard in jail, and it would be worth it to have Ian content and just touching him casually like he’s important.

At the end of the day, everyone in the house who isn’t a child is straight-up drunk, and Ian insists that he and Mickey crash there just like he’d planned, despite pleas to head to one of their places instead. They force Liam to give up his bedroom, and he sleeps in Carl’s, while Lip takes the couch. 

They’d made it through Thanksgiving, but now Christmas was right around the corner, staring them in the face.

  


* * *

  


A couple weeks before the big day, they make a kind of holiday sex pact.

_The XXXmas Xchange_ , they end up dubbing it, although Mickey keeps referring to it simply as _Sexmas_.

It comes about from Ian wanting to set rules about how much they can spend on each other for Christmas, as if Mickey had been harboring some kind of secret plan to buy Ian something extravagant for a holiday he barely cared about and had rarely celebrated since he was pretty young. In fact, Mickey hadn’t even thought about getting Ian anything, if he was being honest. It would actually work out great for him if he wasn’t expected to drop a bunch of dollars on his boyfriend because some arbitrary date on the calendar told him he should.

Ian says they shouldn’t worry about having some big blowout Christmas, because it was gonna be their first, and they hadn’t been together long enough for it to really seem appropriate to overdo it. He thinks it’d be better to come up with something cheap and original that might mean something. Mickey jokes that he’d rather just exchange sexual favors. Instead of getting exasperated that he’d never get Mickey to take him seriously about the gift thing, Ian’s interest is piqued.

“What if we both get to ask for something we wanna do together that we’ve never done before?” Ian smiles a tad salaciously.

Mickey’s eyebrows dance on his forehead. “Mmm. . . somethin’ we’ve never done before, huh? List is gettin’ smaller.”

Ian swats him with a pillow. “There’s still plenty. I’ve actually been thinking about this one thing. . .” He straddles Mickey’s waist where he’s lying on the couch.

Mickey gasps as Ian pins his wrists above his head, canting his hips up to get some friction through his pants. “Yeah, I been thinkin’ about somethin’ too.”

They bang it out, and Mickey gets excited about Christmas for the first time since he can remember.

The 24th rolls around, and it’s Mickey’s turn first. They have plans to go over to the Gallagher’s that afternoon, and they’re staying the night. So bookending their family gathering will be their holiday bedroom games. He’s pretty sure he’s never woken up with a smile like this on his face before, even on the days he’s come to with Ian’s lips wrapped around him. He watches Ian’s face for a few minutes before his eyes flutter open too.

Mickey pats him on the ass beneath the sheets. “Merry Sexmas to me,” he jokes.

Ian’s face lights up in sleepy recognition, then he scrunches his eyes closed again. “Knew sex would be the key to getting you excited about the holidays,” he rasps, scratching at his arm and yawning cutely as he flips over.

“Guilty,” Mickey shrugs, yawning back.

“Gotta bake those fucking pies before I do anything else, though,” Ian grouses.

“You’re such an undercover Betty Crocker.”

“Fuck off.”

Mickey’s too antsy to wait for Ian to make his stupid cherry pies, so he takes the time to head back to his place to do laundry, and get ready for the upcoming festivities. He also needs to make a call to make sure the gift he’s taking to the Gallagher’s is ready to be picked up on the way to the house. A few hours pass before Ian texts.

> **Ian:** Bout to get in the shower if you wanna head over.
> 
> **Mickey:** Gonna get clean just to get dirty again?
> 
> **Ian:** Uh huh. Wanna be nice and fresh for you.
> 
> **Mickey:** Thoughtful as fuck, Gallagher.
> 
> **Ian:** Do I need to do anything special?
> 
> **Mickey:** Like?
> 
> **Ian:** You haven’t said what it is you want. Just wondering how shiny I need to be.
> 
> **Mickey:** Go buck wild. Can’t hurt.
> 
> **Ian:** (Aubergine ≊ Eggplant) (Peach) (Tongue) (Blue Heart)

By the time Mickey comes back over, Ian’s thoroughly scrubbed from head to toe, a pair of loose sweats the only thing covering him. The aroma of sweet baked goods permeates the whole apartment, which he finds an amusing mood-setter for their plans. Mickey has a kind of goofy smile on his face when Ian opens the door. Ian loves it when he can see all his pearly white teeth. Mickey never looks more open and honest than when he’s smiling all big like that. He looks young and sweet.

“Welcome to the first annual Triple Xmas Games, sir. May I take your coat?” Ian asks, bending slightly and offering his arm like a butler.

Mickey laughs and pushes his way through the door. “Stop actin’ foolish, coppertop,” he says as he tosses his coat over a barstool close to the foyer. “Sexmas is serious business.”

Ian chortles and shoves lightly at Mickey’s chest. “You still have too many clothes on.”

“It smells like the inside of a gingerbread house in here,” teases Mickey. “How appropriate.”

“Methinks the holidays are turning you into a big ol’ softie,” says Ian, pulling Mickey close by the hips and swaying them from side to side.

“Fuck off,” Mickey replies, pushing him away again, and pulling off his sweater, then his shirt. “Let’s get to the bangin’.”

Ian’s laughter follows him as he walks to the bedroom, kicking off the boots that he’d already untied in the elevator, because his anticipation was just that great.

“So what do you have in store for me, then?” asks Ian as Mickey turns to face him.

They’d decided to keep each other in the dark until the moment, as they’d been over each of their own lists of shit they wouldn’t do in bed, and confirmed that their tastes were pretty in sync. Without the worry of being asked to do something outside their comfort zones, the element of surprise was kinda hot.

Mickey bites his lip, looking bashful, but determined. “Was kinda thinkin’ you could give me your ass for once.”

Ian grins agreeably. He’d been expecting that answer, in fact. “Oh yeah?” He steps toward Mickey with an inviting glint in his eye. “You wanna fuck me?” He puts his hands on Mickey’s bare waist, skimming them up and down his sides.

“Yes,” answers Mickey, voice barely above a whisper, eyes never breaking away from Ian’s.

Ian takes Mickey’s hands in his, pulling them around to cup his butt cheeks. “You’ve been daydreaming about it, huh?”

While Mickey squeezes his glutes, Ian skims his hands up Mickey’s neck, using his thumbs to tilt his chin up, as he leans forward to curl his tongue over his boyfriend’s plump lips.

Mickey lets out a shaky breath, and dips his hands underneath Ian’s waistband to get two palmfuls of soft flesh. “How’d you know?” he breathes against Ian’s mouth.

Ian smooths his hands over Mickey’s shoulders and torso, then around to the muscular planes of his back. “You’ve been playing with my ass a lot lately when I’m fucking you.” He kisses him warmly. “You know you only had to ask. I don’t mind it once in a while.”

Mickey leans in and kisses Ian again, deepening it this time, as he prizes apart the cheeks he’s kneading. Ian moans into his mouth, and Mickey slips his right hand down Ian’s crack, rubbing him with his middle finger. The skin is smoother than usual, hair-free.

His breath hitches and he pulls away from Ian’s lips. “Did you shave?”

Ian smiles. “Yep. Used your little bottom kit you keep over here, too. Told you, I had a feeling. Especially after you patted my ass like you owned it this morning.”

Mickey snorts. “Fair enough. I guess I’m a transparent asshole.”

“Well, I’ll be your asshole for today.”

Mickey groans loudly. “God, you are the absolute fuckin’ _worst_. I don’t know why I’m dating your lame ass.”

“Yeah you do,” says Ian, pulling Mickey closer by the shoulder blades.

They make out as Mickey backs Ian toward the bed, pulling his hands out of Ian’s sweats, and pushing the fabric off his hips so that they fall to the ground. He then shoves Ian down to the mattress and undoes his own pants.

Ian watches hungrily as Mickey finishes disrobing, dick already at half-mast.

“How long’s it been since you took it?” Mickey asks as he reaches down to stroke himself.

Ian licks his lips, gaze settled right on Mickey’s hand working over his thick cock. “A while. Can’t remember.”

“Months?” He pauses. “Years?”

“Couple years,” Ian mumbles vacantly, entranced by the sight of Mickey growing harder and harder.

“Mmmm,” Mickey hums lasciviously. “Gonna be so fuckin’ tight for me.”

“Yeah.” Ian’s eyes are glassy, and his chest is already heaving considerably.

“Get up on your knees. Wanna see that ass in the air,” Mickey orders, and Ian hops to so quickly that Mickey almost starts laughing again, but he’s too turned on.

Ian’s a little bit nervous, being as this isn’t his usual thing, but it’s also precisely the anomaly of it that gives him a thrill. He trusts Mickey. He hasn’t trusted anyone this much in years. He’s not worried on that score, but he also knows that he’s good at topping. It’s his comfort zone, so he’s confident about it. But bottoming. . . he’s just not so sure where he falls on the rating scale. It’s fine though. He’s excited for Mickey to see him in the position Ian usually has him in. For him to be able to watch him the way Ian likes to when he’s thrusting into him. Knowing that he’ll be turning Mickey on that way kind of does it for him, so any embarrassment takes a back seat.

He hangs his head, hands pressed firmly into the bed, as his back arches a little, and waits for Mickey to touch him. He even pushes his ass out ever so slightly, so that it looks even more enticing.

“Spread your legs a little more,” demands Mickey.

Ian obeys, but can’t help the chuckle that escapes. “Bossy.”

Mickey thwacks him a good one on his left cheek, but before he can even yelp about it, Ian feels a slick tongue travel up from his perineum to the very top of his crack, and he immediately forgets to be indignant. His head falls forward a little more, and Mickey starts going to town on his hole.

Mickey’s never done a whole lot of ass-eating, not only because of the fact that he’s such a bottom, but because most of his encounters being the top, he didn’t much care for a whole lot of foreplay. He knows what feels good to him, though, so he tries to replicate the moves he thinks are the best.

Ian’s mind is already starting to go to that sex space somewhere between reality and an altered state of consciousness that exists only as an expression of pure bliss, where the _want_ feels like _need_. He thinks about tugging on his dick, but he wants Mickey to keep the control. He’s excited to see where that could lead.

“Mick,” he utters raggedly, “touch me.”

He feels more than hears Mickey groan against him, and the bed dips as his partner climbs up onto it.

Mickey pulls his mouth away from the task of spit-shining Ian’s pretty, pink asshole, biting lightly at the curve of one cheek, then covering Ian’s back with his body. He slides his erection against Ian’s crack as he runs his hands over Ian’s chest, pinching his small nipples, tweaking and pulling them between his fingers as he ruts dryly. Slowly, he trails a hand down to take Ian’s big cock in his hand, stroking it languidly until Ian is pushing back into him. Mickey’s not sure if it’s only his imagination, but the moans his boyfriend is emitting sound different than the ones he usually hears.

“You like that?” Mickey breathes into Ian’s ear, twisting his left nipple and tightening the hand working his crotch.

“Yeah,” Ian manages to respond, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Good,” says Mickey.

He then pulls away, and puts his face back between Ian’s legs, lapping at his opening again.

“Get the lube?” Ian asks like a question. Like Mickey is calling all the shots. Which is nice of him seeing as he’s collecting a gift. It amuses him nonetheless.

Mickey spanks the cheek he hadn’t slapped earlier, and jumps off the mattress, going straight to the bedside table where Ian keeps the lube and condoms. He tears open the foil packet of a rubber as he makes his way back, standing at the end of the bed to admire Ian’s body in its current position. He rolls the latex up his length, biting his lip as he opens the lube and squeezes a good amount into his palm.

Climbing back onto the bed, he wets two fingers and rubs them over Ian’s waiting hole, loving the way he gasps at the sensation. He wastes no time letting one finger slip inside, and Ian hisses at the throb it causes. His hands tighten in the sheets when Mickey adds another finger, moving in and out faster and faster, then stopping to rub right where he knows it’ll satisfy most. Ian moans so loudly, he almost startles himself.

Mickey’s glad Ian can’t see the stupid awestruck look on his face right now, because he’s sure it would be the source of endless teasing later. He just can’t believe he’s never gotten Ian like this before. It seems like the strangest thing to never have done together. Then again, when Mickey was a teenager, he wasn’t exactly comfortable letting just any guy give it to him. Usually, he’d be the one doing the fucking. But when Ian had come along and immediately taken the lead as a top, well, it had cemented the fact that Mickey preferred bottoming, and therefore he saw no reason not to continue letting their roles stay as such. But this could be good sometimes. Doing the fucking. He didn’t come quite as hard or quite the same way, but an orgasm was an orgasm, and pleasing Ian with something novel would be cool. Show him he didn’t need to look elsewhere to get variety or newness.

“Mick,” Ian gasps out, sounding wrecked already. “Come on and fuck me.”

Ian feels warm and slick and tight, but between the prep he’d already done himself and what Mickey’s been doing to him for the past 20 minutes or so, he’s probably as ready as he’s gonna get to take a dick he isn’t used to taking.

Mickey uses the rest of the lube left on his hand to lather up his cock, and moves up to kneel between Ian’s legs, widening them just a little more with his knees as he lines up.

He rubs the head around Ian’s rim a few times before pressing in, pausing with just the tip inside, so Ian can get used to the thickness he’s in for. Mickey knows he’s average length, but he’s a little bit wider round than most. Ian gives a pained groan, and Mickey leans over him.

“You okay?”

Ian nods frantically. “Keep going ’til it gets better.”

Mickey moves his hips forward, slowly thrusting until he’s all the way in. He kisses Ian in the middle of his back, then leans up again to grip his hips tightly, pulling out completely, then pushing back in a few times to get Ian loose. Once he’s satisfied that Ian’s body has adjusted, he stays inside and begins fucking him properly, watching the way his fat dick stretches his boyfriend’s hole around himself.

Yeah, it’s pretty hot to watch.

After a while, Ian begins pushing back and participating a bit more. Mickey lets his hands roam over Ian’s back, then grips his neck and pushes his upper body down to the mattress to get a better angle. Mickey jabs sharply inside of Ian, grinding experimentally until he gets the moans he wants out of his partner, rubbing against his sweet spot over and over again. He lowers his body down against his lover and places his hands underneath his armpits so he can pull him back against his downward pushes. They’re so fucking close together, it’s almost overwhelming.

“Holy shit, Mickey,” Ian whines. “Oh, fuck.”

Mickey bites Ian’s earlobe as he continues pumping in that perfect rhythm. The way Ian is holding his ass in place taking everything Mickey’s giving him is so fucking hot. Of course he should’ve known Ian would be hot like this, but he couldn’t have imagined it would make him feel this way. He pulls back to look at the side of Ian’s face, and the way his eyes are shut tightly, mouth open and panting. His brow is furrowed almost in disbelief. He’s beautiful. Mickey kisses his cheek.

“Roll over,” he orders.

Ian is too lost in his head to understand what Mickey is saying, but he definitely feels the loss of him when he pulls out of his body.

“What?” he asks, confused, but Mickey is already manhandling him around onto his back.

Ian looks up at him with wide eyes full of passion. He reaches for Mickey, and pulls him down to kiss him hungrily, not caring at all that it’s a total mess of tongues and lips and teeth. He’s never wanted someone to fuck him this badly before.

He raises his own knees up, spreading his legs for Mickey, grabbing at his ass, and pulling him back to where he wants him to be. He’s fucking aching for it.

Mickey reaches down and guides himself back in, and Ian clenches down around his girth purposefully, eliciting some low sexy moans from his lover. Ian keeps one hand on on Mickey’s ass and the other on his hip, as he presses him impossibly closer, kissing him harder and deeper. He’s finally getting friction against his cock, and it’s really doing it for him.

Mickey pulls back to grab Ian’s legs and position them further upward to get a better angle at his prostate and Ian takes his own dick in hand, jerking himself in time to Mickey’s thrusts. The relief is so enormous, his heart starts beating even faster and his breath stutters. His head tosses and turns on the pillow, and when he opens his eyes again, Mickey’s still staring right at his face, completely turned on, yes, but there’s also a tenderness there that he only displays at very certain times and places. He looks like he cares so much about Ian, it’s almost scary. Like more than anyone else has ever cared. Like Ian is some grand revelation to him. Like Ian is _it_.

He feels Mickey’s rough hands rub all over his thighs, and watches as he kisses and bites at the calf closest to his mouth. Ian squeezes himself tighter in his hand, clamping down around Mickey’s cock again as he rocks faster and faster.

“Fuck, Ian, gonna come!”

“Wait for me.”

Ian speeds up his hand as Mickey continues to pound away, and manages to reach his shaky left hand to Mickey’s neck and pull him in for another hot, wet kiss.

Mickey’s moans get louder, building to a place Ian is all too familiar with, and he can feel his insides throbbing to the point of bursting.

“You’re so hot, Mick,” Ian whispers in his ear, then trails his left hand down to Mickey’s asshole, letting the middle finger slip in just about halfway.

Mickey groans loudly as his thrusts become completely untamed, and Ian’s pretty sure he’s never been fucked this hard in his entire life.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Ian punches out, sighing then moaning as he finally comes, wetting their chests with his spunk, making it silky slick between them, offsetting the heated stickiness of their combined sweat.

Ian’s spasms around Mickey’s dick send him over the edge, and he holds himself hard inside of Ian as he spills into the condom, giving a few tiny thrusts to coax it all out, before he drops his full weight down onto the man beneath him.

Neither of their limbs seem to be working at all. It’s just a soaking wet mess of two broken people lying limply as their heaving chests jostle each other around.

Mickey’s not sure how long they lie there, but at some point Ian’s phone rings, and he hears him ask, “Babe, can you please pull out?”

Mickey obeys without replying, slipping out, but not moving his head much farther down Ian’s chest where it’s resting.

“Hey Lip,” he hears Ian’s voice both from his mouth above him and inside his body beneath him, where it does that kind of echoing against his chest. He can’t help but snort at the fact that Ian is answering his brother’s call right now, still out of breath and coming down from that intense sexual high they’d just reached. “Yeah, just give us a bit more time. Need to shower.”

Mickey can hear some muffled sarcasm, but who the fuck cares.

“None of your fucking business, just be here in like an hour,” Ian says. “We’ll be fully dressed, I promise.”

They turn on the cold water when they first step into the shower, because they’re still a little shaky on their feet, and Mickey’s worried he might pass out if he gets too steamed too quickly. Ian has this fucking dopey smile on his face the whole time they bathe, and Mickey almost makes fun of him for it, before he realizes that he’s wearing a dopey-ass smile of his own, so he has no room to tease. He feels soft, but he’s not upset about it. It’s kind of nice to be in a safe place with Ian, unafraid of displaying emotion. Maybe he’s happy, so fucking what?

They wash each other’s backs and maybe they pay too close attention to what’s between each other’s legs, but it’s mostly to get a laugh, and they don’t fuck around anymore, because there’s no time.

Despite being weighed down with a duffle bag, and balancing two pies in one hand, so his boyfriend can haul down two large paper bags full of presents, Mickey lets Ian hold his hand all the way down to where Lip’s waiting for them in his Tesla Model S. He rolls his eyes when Ian tries to get into the backseat with him and make his brother chauffeur them around like a high-end cabbie.

“I know it’s hard to keep your hands off all this,” Mickey jokes, “but don’t be ridiculous. We’re not _that_ couple.”

Ian huffs in his face, but knows he’s right. “Fine.”

He gets into the front seat with his brother, but eventually reaches his right hand back to paw at Mickey’s knee behind him. Mickey just shakes his head and lets him be.

Ian reminds Lip that they need to swing by Mickey’s bar so he can pick something up. He cuts off any bitching about it when he informs him that what Mickey’s getting is a gift for him and all the rest of their siblings.

Lip casts a suspicious kind of look into the rearview mirror, and Mickey smiles annoyingly and flips him off.

The car is kept idling in the alleyway at the back entrance of the bar while Mickey runs in to get whatever it is he’s contributing to their family gathering.

“He really giving us a fuckin’ Christmas present?” Lip asks as they wait.

Ian shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

“Don’t you find that the least bit odd? Since when does a Milkovich give away anything for free?”

“Since he’s my fucking boyfriend, I guess. He wants to do something nice for the people I love. Don’t be a dick about it. Thought you liked him now, anyway.”

“He’s fine. I don’t mind him. But that doesn’t mean I trust him, either. Excuse me if it’s hard to see him as a giver.”

“Oh, he gives plenty,” Ian says with a pointed grin.

Lip’s face screws up. “Gross, dude!”

Ian chuckles, and watches as Mickey emerges carrying a small keg with both hands, biceps flexing beneath his winter coat, no doubt, and Ian wishes he could see them. He’s about to get out and help him, when much to his surprise, Lip opens the door first and is rounding the car to meet Mickey beside it.

“A fuckin’ pony keg?”Lip asks delightedly, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, man. Brewed it myself. Figured the best thing to get your alcoholic-ass family was probly alcohol.”

Lip snorts. “Nice.”

Mickey waits for him to pop the trunk, and they lift the keg up into the car together.

Coming through the back door of the Gallagher house with a quarter barrel of beer stirs up a considerable amount of excitement, and Ian is about to be mad at his homemade pies being outshone, but Debbie comes over to take them out of his hand, and says they smell wonderful, and he’s content again.

“What’s all this?” Fiona asks, standing in front of them with her hands on her hips, and a big smile on her face.

“Mickey brought us a gift,” answers Lip in a ‘can-you-fucking-believe-this-shit?’ tone of voice.

“We usually make a few batches for the team and family at the end of the year, so I brewed this fuckin’ wheat beer for you guys, since some of you are such pussies about the better tastin’ ales out there in the world. Since I don’t know how to cook a turkey or whatever,” Mickey explains as Fiona’s smile gets wider.

“Wow, Mickey, you didn’t have to do all that for us,” she says.

He shrugs, “Yeah, I know, but I wanted to. Since I keep crashin’ your family events and whatnot.”

He paws at the back of his head uncomfortably, until Ian comes over and attaches himself to his side.

“You’re not crashin’ if you’re with Ian,” Fiona tells him, letting her soft eyes wander to her brother as he squeezes Mickey closer to his side and kisses his temple. “We’re happy to have you.”

“Here’s your gifts from me,” Ian says, holding up his two giant bagfuls of wrapped presents.

“Well, put them under the tree, then, sweetface,” she tells him, then wanders back to her place near the stove where she’s once again slaving over the big holiday meal.

Ian moves into the living room to unpack the things he brought for his siblings, and Mickey stays behind to set the keg up in an ice bath.

“You think that’s gonna be enough to get us through the night?” Fiona joshes.

“I fuckin’ hope so,” replies Mickey. “That’s like 80 bottles worth of 9% alcohol content beer. And don’t tell me someone ain’t showin’ up here with at least one bottle of hooch.”

Fiona snickers. “You’re probly right.”

Once the beer is tapped, Mickey pours drinks for everyone who wants one, and settles into the couch in the living room. Ian squeezes himself into the space between him and the armrest, forcing him to cuddle in front of all his younger siblings. Mickey tries to give him a look, but Ian’s soft eyes and smirk kind of melt him, and any words about backing off die before reaching his lips. He lets Ian stroke his side, as they listen to his brothers arguing, and he ignores the knowing looks Debbie keeps shooting over at them, like they’re the cutest thing she’s ever seen, or whatever the fuck.

Truth is, Mickey understands why Ian feels clingy. He sort of feels it too. The intimacy between them lately has been getting more and more off the charts. It’s weird how really great sex can sort of bind you to someone, and make it feel like you’re supposed to be together, touching each other as much as possible. Just looking at Ian’s big dumb face fills Mickey up with this bubbly sensation he can’t quite explain. He’s pretty sure he’d be powerless to deny the ginger sap anything he could possibly give him. A fucking scary prospect if ever there was one.

Ian is still a little taken aback by how much he enjoys seeing Mickey around his family. He’s never really been with anyone that fits in so well with who they are and how they act around one another. He’s fairly sure Mickey himself doesn’t even realize it. Probably thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb. He still acts with a certain amount of unease around them, even if it’s gotten a little bit better each time they’ve come around to hang out. But whatever Mickey thinks, he does make sense with Ian, and he makes sense with all of the Gallaghers as a unit.

Mickey is a good match for Ian. Maybe the best match possible. Maybe a part of him had always known that somewhere in the back of his mind, but he’d usually convinced himself it was merely a part of a childish infatuation in his youth. That his feelings then had been magnified because he hadn’t known any better. That they weren’t real.

But now, here they were so many years later, and Ian was becoming surer and surer that they were the most real thing he’d ever had.

He nuzzles into Mickey’s neck and inhales his scent.

“Cut it out, man,” Mickey says softly in his ear. “If Philip sees us like this, I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

“Since when are you afraid of Lip?” Ian mumbles against his skin.

“Not afraid, just don’t feel like gettin’ fucked with all night.”

“Can’t help it. I need to touch you.”

“Alright, but you can touch me without gettin’ frisky in front of the children.”

Ian bites him right above the collarbone in retaliation.

“Ow!” yelps Mickey. “Now you can definitely fuck off!” he pushes him away, but there’s still a smirk there, so Ian unwraps himself from around his body, but rests one of his big hands on Mickey’s knee in an unnecessary display of ownership.

As usual, the Ball family seems to burst through the door as soon as the food is ready to be served, and the added energy of two young twins, plus their boisterous parents kicks the proceedings up a notch.

“Mickey!” Kev bellows as soon as he steps into the room behind all of his girls. “My man, what is up?”

He’s not sure why Kevin likes him so much, but whatever. He’s kind of an idiot, but he supposes he’s not a bad guy to have on his side, especially if he ever falls out of favor with one of the Gallaghers. He knows that’s at least one ally that would have his back and stick up for his interests.

Kev holds up a bottle of Irish whiskey, and slaps Mickey’s hand as he passes through the living room, pausing to ruffle Ian’s hair as if he’s a kid, prompting a, “Fuck off!” from the redhead attached to his side like a barnacle.

Mickey sniggers at the interaction, watching as Vee places some small wrapped gifts under the tree. He’s never seen so many presents before, and a brief flash of regret passes through his head at the thought of a childhood that could have been, but never was. If he hadn’t deserved that one day of traditional happiness each year, then Mandy sure did. Maybe he should’ve tried to find a way to make that up to her when they first went out on their own, but neither of them had really known any better, had they? And now he wasn’t sure that either of them were the types to ever have children. He was pretty sure Mandy was as scared as he was of the prospect of being a role model and having the all too real responsibility of looking after a helpless human life.

“I wish Mandy was here,” Mickey finds himself saying out loud to Ian.

“Yeah, me too,” replies Ian. “Next year we’ll have to plan something together. Maybe we could even take a trip.”

Mandy was away with her boyfriend in some fucking tropical paradise, sending them jealousy-inducing photos with backdrops of crystal blue ocean, palm tree lined shores, and cascading waterfalls along jagged rocks. Mickey had never seen her look so happy. Her smile was as huge as her sunglasses, and she’d dyed her hair blonde, making her look more sun-kissed with her uncharacteristic tan.

He supposed she was getting her own perfect Christmas, and he could wait to share one with her another time. Fuck, but Ian was turning him into a sap too.

“Don’t know how we’re gonna top Hawaii, but I guess we can try,” he says, and they smile at each other. Ian kisses his hand as Carl makes barfing noises nearby.

As the night grows longer, Mickey has less and less room to get mad at Ian for his needy behavior, because the drunker he gets, the more he enjoys the frequent pawing, despite any sour-faced looks Lip may be tossing them, or the moon-eyes directed at them by the ladies of the house.

The dinner was as great as Thanksgiving with many of the same dishes, and Ian’s cherry pies were a big hit, as was Mickey’s brew. By 11 PM, the kids were asleep, and the adults were arriving at a point that could be called ‘wasted.’

By now, Ian has practically pulled Mickey into his lap in front of everyone, and it’s a little bit embarrassing, but he doesn’t give a shit. It’s like the fucking spirit of the holiday has infected him with a carefreeness he never saw coming.

Ian knows he’s pushing it, but he can’t stop himself. He’d tried to temper his expectations about what Christmas with Mickey could be, but he just couldn’t. And for once, everything was turning out even better than expected. How could he not feel jubilant with the aid of the liquid courage now coursing through his veins.

“I don’t mean to call you out or anything,” says Vee, “but you two are bein’ PDA as fuck over there. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Mickey tries to hide his smile, but he can’t on account of the drunkenness. He still manages to give her one middle finger with his free hand. The other may be busy playing beneath the hem of Ian’s shirt somewhere around the area where that deep cut oblique muscle that drives him wild resides. Every once in a while Ian shivers with the tickle of the sensitive skin there, and he giggles and smacks Mickey on the stomach.

“You used to be the dirtiest white boy in America, you know that?” Vee continues.

“Leave him alone, babe,” chastises Kevin.

“Babe!” Ian hollers way to close to Mickey’s ear. “This is my babe right here!” He jiggles Mickey to and fro. “MY FUCKING DOLLFACE PUMPKIN CAKE!”

Mickey wants to be furious at Ian pulling this shit on him right now, but he finds himself completely helpless to react the way he intends to, even as the entire roomful of assholes whoops and makes annoying kissy noises and snide baby-talk comments.

Ian laughs heartily into Mickey’s ear, and despite feeling his face go beet red, Mickey can’t help kind of laughing along with everyone else, even as he mumbles, “You’re a fuckin’ dick.”

“I’m your fuckin’ dick, though,” Ian says lowly, wiggling his eyebrows like a jackass.

Mickey snorts, “Get a grip, Gallagher. You’re drunk.” He takes another swig of his own beer right after he says this, not giving a fuck.

Ian leans in close, his alcohol-laden breath hitting Mickey’s nostrils like a shot, “I’ll get a grip, alright. Get a grip on dat ass!” He punctuates his words by moving the hand closest to Mickey’s butt so as to grab at it, but is interrupted loudly by Lip.

“Fucking Christ! Will you two stop actin’ like horny bastards in front of us, please? No one needs to see that shit!”

“Uh oh, sounds like Lip needs to get laid,” Carl retorts.

“Yeah,” agrees Fiona, “did Meghan finally dump your sorry ass, or what?”

Lip sneers, but doesn’t respond, which is probably answer enough.

“Yeah, leave Ian alone!” adds Debbie. “He’s the only one of us in a stable relationship right now. He’s allowed to express it with his family. Maybe next year it’ll be you too, if you stop being an asshole to every girl who let’s you date her.”

“Yeah, Lip,” Ian piles on. “Fuck off.”

He grins and takes Mickey’s chin in hand, angling it just so, then swooping in for a Hollywood kiss. They’ve never really kissed in front of Ian’s family before, and it feels oddly liberating in this state of intoxication, even as the whooping and hollering starts back up again.

“Get a room!” Carl’s voice breaks through the din of catcalls, and Mickey laughs as he pulls away.

“Not a bad idea, really.” His head is swimmy.

“Yeah, okay,” Ian replies easily, swaying as he stands, lightheaded and lead-footed.

He holds a hand out to his boyfriend and helps him up, managing to carry some of his weight even in his uncoordinated state.

“We’re gonna call it a night,” Ian announces to the room at large.

Fi, Kev, and Vee utter a chorus of ‘boos’ at them, and Carl yells out, “You better not fuck in my room, assholes!”

“Do blowjobs count?” Mickey finds himself teasing without turning around as they clumsily climb the stairs.

“Yes!” answers Carl. “You better fucking not! I swear to god!”

Mickey and Ian just laugh as they slowly amble up step by step.

Aside from some awkward intoxicated fumbling and dry humping that never really goes anywhere, they manage to keep it in their pants and pass out pretty quickly.

For some fucked up reason beyond him, Mickey awakens really early the next morning. He lies in bed basking in Ian’s warmth for a while, trying to drift back off, but it doesn’t work. He decides to let Ian sleep a while longer, and manages to get out of his octopus grip without waking him. He makes his way to the bathroom, being almost painfully quiet so as not to disturb anyone, then heads down the back staircase once he’s done.

To his surprise, Fiona is already sitting there at the table, reading a newspaper all old-fashioned style, bouncing little Penny on her lap.

“Mornin’,” she says with a smile once he reaches the landing.

“Yo,” says Mickey, voice thick with sleep, nose appreciating the smell of coffee in the air. “Thought everyone was still sleepin’.”

Fiona shrugs, glancing back down at her paper as Mickey moves to make himself a cup. “I’m used to bein’ up early as shit for my job. Figured I’d give Debbie a little break and let her sleep in a bit for a change. Brought Pens down here.”

“Surprised she hasn’t torn the tree down by now.”

“I’ve been keepin’ her distracted in here.”

Mickey spots a small tablet propped up against the salt and pepper shakers, no doubt displaying some pre-K cartoons, also noticing the small headphones covering Penny’s tiny ears.

“Smart move,” he praises, taking a sip from his mug and watching the child shove handfuls of dry Cheerios into her mouth, her gaze never wavering from the screen.

“Thanks, I’ve had some practice,” she reminds him.

“Surprised you don’t have any of your own by now.”

She snorts. “Yeah, well, I’m sure Ian’s told you all about my stellar romantic history by now. Two divorces and one broken engagement have made me pretty glad that I never brought a child into the mix. Besides, I feel like I already did all that, you know? Still not sure if I wanna do it for real. These ones may have just been enough for me.”

“Well, whatever happens with all that, you’ll find a dude. If _I_ can find a dude, _you_ can fuckin’ find one easy-peasy.”

Fiona laughs. “That’s definitely the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. But maybe you’re more the stickin’ around type than you thought you were, and maybe I never will be. At least when it comes to guys. Patterns and all that. Hard to break.”

Mickey takes a longer swallow of coffee, pondering the oddness of the two of them sitting there talking frankly about these things, and him not feeling like the fuck up. This holiday season bullshit is messing him up in ways he’d never even considered.

“This suddenly feels like the heaviest conversation I’ve ever had before 8 AM,” he states. “What the fuck?”

“Welcome to the family,” Fiona tells him, and despite the lighthearted tone, it successfully finishes the job of fucking him all the way up with the kinds of feelings he isn’t used to having in this place, or with these people. Goddamn Gallaghers.

Mickey is relieved when Fiona’s banter becomes much less intimate observation and much more casual gossip, so he can just sit there and listen half-interestedly without having to say much. She’s really good at reading people.

The rest of the family slowly trickles groggily downstairs over the next hour and a half, despite the excitement of the imminent holiday morning they’re kicking off. Ian and Lip are the last ones to appear, and also the ones who end up making breakfast for all.

Ian dances around his brother, whisking pancake batter while Lip cracks eggs over a mixing bowl. It feels weird to be back here with him and everyone like the old days, but it also feels completely right, like no time has passed at all. It’s the same as it ever was with all the Gallaghers who matter. That is, their generation and not the one before it. Now that he’s older, Ian can see so much more clearly how lucky they are to have always had each other. If Monica hadn’t birthed such a large brood with Frank at her side, he’s not sure things would’ve turned out so well, all things considered. His parents were shit, but his brothers and sisters made him who he really is. And that’s pretty amazing that they have that bond in spite of all their hardships, and lack of adult influence or supervision.

Ian appreciates them all with much more depth and fervor than he had when he was younger, and these rare occasions where they all fall back into old family routines tend to highlight that fact.

And now he has Mickey too. Mickey, who looks so good sitting at the table playing a board game with Ian’s brothers, and smiling at Ian’s baby niece, pulling cute faces for her amusement. Mickey, with his reformed bad boy bravado, and mysterious knuckle tattoos he won’t tell people the meanings of. Mickey, who’s evolved into something he never could’ve pictured, but retained all the qualities that made Ian feel like a smitten kitten when he’d first started to get to know him.

Mickey fascinates him, and he’s looking forward to that fascination hopefully being endless.

After a relatively calm breakfast around the kitchen table, they all move to the living room, where the festivities heat up. Now that Lip’s rich, Ian’s firmly lower middle class, and Fiona is doing as well as she can while still supporting two brothers, but making more than she ever has before, the pile of gifts extends outward from the tree considerably in a way it never had when they were kids. Of course, there are six of them, so one gift from everyone to everyone, plus a few more for Penny and Liam, and a few for Mickey make it look like the collection is intended for a small army.

Ian smiles as Penny gets the honor of opening the first presents, so she’ll have a couple of new toys to play with while the rest of them take turns.

Liam gets annoyed when the first box he opens contains nothing but new socks and underwear, but Fiona just laughs, “You need them! You’ve got like 10 more presents to open, so don’t be rude about it. I got you some fun ones too.”

Carl grouses as well when his first one is a new winter coat. “I already have one of these! What the fuck?”

“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you two?” Fiona chastises. “Have you already forgotten how shitty our Christmas mornings used to be? And you two weren’t even alive for the worst of them. You needed a new coat since your old one has at least three holes in it. Shut up and appreciate it, because it’s fuckin’ new, and not some crappy hand-me-down, jerkface.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Whatever,” Carl mutters disdainfully, but he eyes the jacket and decides to try it on.

Debbie actually loves the dress she opens from Fiona, and things get much less bitchy from there.

Liam gets books and video games, including a virtual reality headset (from Lip); Carl gets a small arsenal, but no guns, and an Apple watch (from Lip); Debbie gets more clothes and accessories, plus a new iPad (from Lip); Penny gets a bajillion toys, a winter hat, and a frilly dress; Ian, Lip, and Fiona mostly just receive and exchange gift cards wrapped like true boxed presents, because they didn’t want anything specific, although Lip gives the other two outright checks, and they won’t show anyone what the amounts are for; Mickey gets an Amazon gift card from Lip, and a few books from Fiona and the rest (she informs him that Liam picked them out). Carl gives everybody an eighth of weed. Fiona smacks him on the head, but pockets her baggie nonetheless.

While the rest of the family is distracted with their own hauls, Ian leans over and hands Mickey his gift from him, so Mickey grabs Ian’s and hands it over too.

“You first,” he says with a smile.

“Damn, Mickey, no wonder that bag was so heavy. The fuck did you get me?” The wrapped box in his hands feels like it weighs about ten pounds.”

“Open it and find out, dumbass.”

Ian chuckles. “Hope you remembered the spending limit. Mine didn’t really cost anything but time and effort.”

“Will you just shut up and open it?” urges Mickey.

Ian tears into the paper, then pulls off the tape on the box. There’s even tissue paper inside of it. “Did Mandy wrap this for you before she left?”

“Maybe.”

Ian titters again, and pulls the paper away, laughing heartily when he sees what’s inside. It’s a giant dictionary/thesaurus. He meets Mickey’s smiling eyes. “You’re such an asshole. I love it.”

He leans forward and they kiss chastely.

“Check out the bookmarks,” Mickey says when he leans back.

Ian pulls the book out, and starts flipping through to the pages Mickey had tabbed with different colors, giggling at the highlighted words and definitions. In addition to marking words Ian had either misused or not known the meaning of in Mickey’s presence, he’d also marked words related to nicknames both of them have called one another, as well as Mickey’s own name which apparently has a very amusing Irish slang definition that means ‘penis.’ His boyfriend had even inscribed the front page:

_So you’ll learn what the hell you’re actually saying when you say things, and understand me when I say things to you. Merry Sexxxmas._

_— M.M._

Ian’s smile was so wide and bright, Mickey knew his stupid idea had been the right one. A meaningful gift that didn’t cost much. It was an older edition being sold on Amazon for cheap from some chain’s backstock. He was hoping his thoughtfulness would be accepted as intended, but he hadn’t been sure if it would. He’d never given someone that kind of gift before. He’d barely ever given anyone any gifts at all, period.

“This is the best, Mick. I knew you were a fuckin’ sap underneath it all,” Ian says, leaning in to kiss Mickey again, a little longer this time. “Now open mine,” he adds, pulling back.

“Eh,” Mickey shrugs, “you said it has no monetary value, so fuck it.” He pretends to chuck the present over his shoulder, and Ian winds his hand into the front of Mickey’s t-shirt, pulling him in close.

“Don’t you dare,” he says in a teasing challenge.

Mickey laughs and undoes the ridiculously tight and thoroughly winded ribbons from around his package, then tears it open to reveal a small book-sized box, but it doesn’t weigh enough to contain an actual novel. Inside is a handmade booklet whose cover reads:

  
  
_Mickey’s Tats_  


_(as interpreted by Ian)_

Mickey looks up at him with raised eyebrows high up on his head, in that classic way that always tickles Ian to the core. “Thought you forgot all about this shit. Haven’t mentioned it in a while.”

“Yeah, well, I did put it off at first, but then I got the idea to wait until now. Took me a whole afternoon to do all the research.”

Mickey chortles. “Dude, it took me like an hour to pick ‘em out in the first place.”

“Yeah right.”

“Swear to god. Maybe two at most.”

Ian shakes his head. “Whatever, you gonna check it out, or what?”

Mickey’s eyes are gleaming. “Yeah.”

He takes the pamphlet out, and opens it to the first page.

_Interesting, Milkovich. Most of these are runes and glyphs with Pagan, Nordic, and Finnish backgrounds, but some are Native American, and some are modern minimalist shit invented by hobos and homos. It’s not surprising that you wouldn’t give a fuck about all the symbols inked on your skin having the same cultural origins, since you don’t exactly follow any belief system, but it made this whole thing a lot more annoying for me to investigate. I had to make sure I was getting them all right. You can never do anything the easy way, can you? Merry Christmas to my perpetual Grinch._

_— XOXO,_

_Ian_

Ian had obviously used some app to make the thing, because in addition to pictures and typed text neatly formatted, there were also annotations in Ian’s own scrawl, with arrows pointing to passages like his own personal commentary on his findings. It was kind of adorable.

Each symbol had its own page, in order, starting from where the F used to be, and right through to the P.

Appropriately enough, the first glyph meant ‘ _regeneration_ ,’ and Ian cheekily noted in the margins that, _‘It looks like an idiot trying to play tic-tac-toe with no instructions, and only knowing about the X’s being a thing.’_ The second one stood for ‘ _power_ ,’ with Ian’s aside that, _‘If you rotated it 90º, you’d get an atomic symbol for ‘soda,’ but I find you more fond of alcohol than Coke.’_

The third one looked like an infinity symbol, but rather than horizontally drawn, it was vertical. _‘Aside from the obvious ‘eternity’ meaning, I don’t really see you as the type to wanna live forever. Apparently, back in the dust bowl days, some hobos invented this code, and they’d leave chalk markings on signs for other tramps to find, so they’d know the best ways to go, the best houses to beg at, and shit like that. They have this one really uplifting one that looks a lot like an infinity symbol, but actually means ‘don’t give up.’ I’d like to think that’s more you trying to remind yourself to keep going. Of course if you just slid one circle to slightly overlap the other, it would mean ‘hobos arrested on sight,’ which also sounds pretty appropriate for you somehow. If you kept it as is, but added another circle, it would mean ‘chain gang.’ I don’t know why I included that other than its proximity to ‘gang bang.’’_ Mickey laughs out loud at that. There was another annotation that read: _‘The proper mathematical term for infinity is ‘lemniscate.’ So put that in your catalogue of five-dollar words and smoke it.’_

The fourth one was a rune that meant ‘ _strength_ ,’ and the fifth one Ian couldn’t decide if Mickey intended to mean ‘ _treasure_ ’ or ‘ _protection_ ,’ but in the end decided it doubled as both.

The sixth symbol was a variety of infinite triangle that looked like three inverted triangles hooked together side by side. _‘Triangles have a long and varied history, especially representing the elements to different ancient alchemists, but of course the first thing I’d have to bring up are the obvious gay connotations. The gay liberation movement took on the original pink triangle from World War II in the 70s, but it’s been modified to all sorts of representations since then. I also found a native symbol where the single black outlined kind just means ‘heart,’ which I find kind of perfect. Then again, add two more on vertically, and it just means corn, so. . . I don’t know. A lot of people ascribe different meanings to their versions of combined triangles, and the main one I could see you going for is ‘past, present, and future,’ but I’m gonna go ahead and go with the obvious, and that is that at least to me, it will always mean ‘infinitely gay,’ just in case I ever need reminding that above all else, you’re gay forever.’_ Mickey looks up into Ian’s amused face, laughing along with him.

“That one’s my favorite,” Ian admits.

“Of course it is,” says Mickey, shaking his head and flipping through the last couple of pages.

The seventh symbol was an Indian Nation sun signifying ‘ _happiness_ ,’ and the eighth was also Native American; an eagle representing ‘ _freedom_.’ The last note on the page and in the booklet itself read: _‘You are free, Mick, and I hope you’ll stay that way forever, just like you’ll remain in your infinite gayness. If it were up to me, I’d make it so nothing had the power to fuck you up ever again. I’m glad that your fists have found peace too.’_

Mickey is struck speechless, because Ian usually isn’t so straight-forward in quite this manner. The fact that he’s puzzled Mickey’s thoughts out like this, and been bold enough to let him know that he’s figured him out. . . it’s a lot. That he knows that Mickey sometimes thinks about the deeper things in life, and that sometimes Ian does too. It’s not really the way either of them were brought up, yet time and experience has expanded their worldviews a little bit.

Ian bites his lip in Mickey-like fashion as he waits for him to react. He can see that the gift has affected Mickey, but he hopes it isn’t too much. That Ian hasn’t gotten too presumptuous as they’ve grown inevitably closer and more comfortable with one another over the past few months. The last thing he wants to do is overwhelm his boyfriend and send him fleeing to somewhere back inside his comfort zone. Ian doesn’t want to be out here alone in the ether again.

Mickey finally looks up at him, a meaningful expression painting his face, but he only searches Ian’s eyes, not saying a word.

At last, Ian is the one to cave. “Well? Did I nail it? Or was I pretty close at least? Was it a stupid thing to give you?”

Mickey shakes his head. “Nah, man, it wasn’t stupid at all. You did good. Could be a detective.”

Ian snorts loudly. “Yeah, sure, as long as you’re the only thing I have to figure out.”

Mickey pushes his face away. “You’re such a fuckin’ cornball, dude. That closing paragraph was way over-the-top.”

“You loved it. You know you did.”

“Maybe,” Mickey concedes, a slow grin taking over his face.

Ian’s so wrapped up in studying every inch of Mickey’s face so he can remember this moment, debating whether or not to lean in and kiss him, that he doesn’t hear what Carl’s exclaiming in the background.

“There’s another present here, but there’s no tag. Whose is this?”

Mickey sees Carl waving around a small navy blue package, not recognizing the paper, and goes back to staring at Ian.

“I’m opening it, then,” Carl says, tearing into the paper.

Mickey’s just leaning in to give Ian the kiss he’s clearly been holding back for whatever inane reason, when he hears Carl loudly cry, “What the fuck?” and looks over to see him holding what appears to be two jockstraps aloft, one in each hand.

Ian follows Mickey’s gaze and freezes, turning a shade of crimson that nearly matches his hair. Mickey finally cottons onto what’s happening when Ian jumps up and reaches his brother in one big stride. He wrenches the revealing undergarments out of Carl’s hands, shoving them into his pockets as the room erupts in guffaws, whoops, and hollers.

“Why’d you bring that kinky-ass shit to family Christmas, bro?” Lip needles, getting a kick out of the rare sight of a flustered Ian.

“What kinda gifts are you two exchangin’ in front of us?” laughs Fiona.

“Don’t tell me that shit’s for workin’ out, I’m not that dumb anymore,” adds Carl.

Mickey might be blushing a little at this point, too.

“I didn’t mean to put that in the bag,” Ian says seriously, in total defensive mode. “I was in a hurry. Fuck! That was private. Why the fuck would you open something clearly not meant for you, you little shithead?”

Ian smacks Carl on the back of the head.

“You’re the idiot who put it in with all the regular presents!” counters Carl. “I even asked the whole room whose it was before I opened it. Not my fault that you’re such a dumbass.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have opened it!” Ian reiterates.

“Whatever, I already opened it. And now we all know you’re gonna be dressing Mickey up in thongs when you two get it on later,” Carl continues.

That gets more laughter and catcalls from the peanut gallery.

“Haha, very funny, and fuck you all very much!” Ian’s losing more and more of his cool, and it’s rendering him nearly incoherent. “And a jockstrap’s not a thong, moron.”

“Whatever. Everyone’s sitting around picturing your boyfriend’s ass, loser.” Carl is really trying to claim this moment for himself.

They all kind of glance over curiously at Mickey then, and his crazy eyebrows and open mouth do nothing to deflect the fact that he’s completely blindsided by this random turn of events. Why’d the Gallagher Christmas morning drama have to center on him? He was gonna have to kill Ian later.

“Better not be fuckin’ picturin’ my ass, you pervs,” he finally manages to say, voice calmer than he feels. “Just because your brother is mentally deficient and couldn’t keep our shit in the bedroom, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to check me out.”

They laugh and look back to Ian, who’s still looking shook.

Mickey decides to take pity on him, because the damage is already done, and in the end, it’s not really that big of a deal. Just a small embarrassment, and that shit happens sometimes. No need in ruining Ian’s previously great mood.

He gets up, and takes Ian by the forearm, ushering him out of the living room as Lip helpfully reminds them, “No bangin’ in the kitchen!”

“I’m so sorry, Mick—” Ian begins, but Mickey cuts that shit right off by kissing him forcefully, backing him up against the counter.

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher,” he tells him after pulling away. “What’s done is done.”

“Yeah, but—”

Mickey cuts Ian off again with another hard kiss. “Stop.”

Ian looks at him incredulously. “I can’t believe I’m more upset about this than you are.”

“Yeah, well, we still got plans for this afternoon, firecrotch,” he replies, pressing his body in closer to Ian’s. “I don’t want this throwin’ you off your game.”

Ian manages a small smile at that. “Yeah?”

“Fuckin’ A. It’s your turn today anyway, and now I guess I got some idea what you had in mind.” Mickey grins and Ian’s smile gets bigger with it. “Now, show me those tiny pieces of cloth you got me to wear.”

Ian reaches into his pockets and pulls out one ridiculous neon yellow jock with hot pink straps, and one that’s all jet black like Mickey’s hair.

Mickey studies them and hums in consideration. “I’m guessing you’ll wanna start with the black?”

Ian’s grin brightens. “How’d you know?”

  


* * *

  


The quiet of Ian’s apartment is a pleasant and welcoming one after the frenetic morning with his family. They disrupt the stillness, placing their dufflebag and gifts on the coffee table, and Mickey turns on the TV just to break the silence, as Ian kicks off his shoes and pulls off his socks, then makes his way to the kitchen to deposit his empty pie pans.

“You want some wine?” Ian calls out as he rummages through his cabinets.

“You don’t gotta liquor me up for Sexmas, Gallagher,” Mickey calls back.

“No shit,” says Ian, “but I need to unwind a little before we proceed. If that’s okay with you and you’re not too needy for this dick.”

“I’m needy for you to shut the fuck up and bring me some wine.”

Ian chuckles to himself as he pours two glasses of red into stemless ware, and when he pads barefoot back out to the living room, Mickey’s lounging on the couch with his socked feet crossed up on the table, reminding Ian of a day a million years ago when Mickey lazed beside him and Mandy as they played video games, right after they’d snuck off for a quickie right under her nose.

He can’t believe that those kids were them once upon a time. It feels like another life almost.

“Here’s your classy beverage, sir,” Ian says, handing over one glass as he settles in on Mickey’s left.

Mickey takes a deep drink and casually throws an arm across the back of Ian’s seat.

“So. . . was it as painful as you thought it would be?” prompts Ian.

“What, _A Very Gallagher Christmas_?” he shrugs. “I’ve had worse. A lot worse, really. Your family is alright.”

Ian smiles sweetly. “You like them.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Mickey shrugs his shoulder again. “I said they’re alright. If Carl could stop bein’ a pain in the ass for two seconds.”

Ian laughs. “I’m gonna find a way to get him back for that shit. One way or another.”

“Good luck with that.”

Ian sips his wine a couple times, and tries to pay attention to whatever random shit is on. Some kind of reality program about building things. He doesn’t give a shit about it whatsoever.

“You ready to put on a show for me?” Ian asks.

Mickey gives him a look. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’ve been fantasizing about your ass bouncing around in a jockstrap for weeks now, and I intend on getting my XXXmas gift just like I pictured. Wasn’t that the deal?”

“Hold up. At no point in time did anyone say anything about doin’ some kinda lap dance. You’re the ex-stripper in this relationship. That shit ain’t me.”

Ian gasps hyperbolically. “Excuse me, I wasn’t a stripper, I was a dancer!”

Mickey snorts. “That’s the fuckin’ classic stripper line for a reason, gingerbread.”

“I was a go-go dancer, officially.”

“Sure, Jan.”

Ian can’t help his giggle. “Look, I didn’t say you had to dance erotically or anything. I wasn’t expecting you to be into that. There are other ways to get my engine going before we do it.”

“Pretty sure I do an okay job with that without the aid of special undies, and havin’ to act somethin’ out for you.”

“Oh please,” grumbles Ian. “I know you’ve watched as much porn as I have, and I know you’ve at least seen the joys of jockstrap sex even if you haven’t experienced them before. I can give you a good ride in those, and you can show ‘em off to me a little first. It won’t kill you.”

Mickey sighs heavily as if put-upon. “If you try to play stripper music during, or any kinda music for that matter, I’m out.”

Ian snickers. “I told you, I’m not gonna make you dance. But. . . I do want you to maybe shake it around for me a little bit.”

“The fuck?” Mickey does the eyebrow thing with the screwed up face. “I ain’t twerkin’ for your ass either.”

Ian laughs. “I didn’t say that. Just a little bit of bouncing.”

“Fuck, Ian! I ain’t doin’ that!”

“Them’s the rules you agreed to, Mick! You’re not allowed to back out now. I promise you. . . you do this for me, and I’ll give you the ride of your life.”

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that.”

“And I mean it.” Ian chugs the rest of his wine down, and holds his empty glass up. “Want some more?”

“Might as well,” says Mickey, downing the rest of his and handing it over.

Their second glasses are gone in under 20 minutes, and Mickey excuses himself to shower alone and prep for Ian’s little games. When he comes out of the bathroom in a towel, Ian’s resting against the pillows, upright in his bed, hands behind his head and long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

Mickey sniggers at the sight, roughly drying his hair with a smaller towel as he approaches. “You lookin’ forward to somethin’?” he teases.

“You know I am,” answers Ian, flexing his arms just so.

What a fucker. Mickey knows he’s doing that shit on purpose. Displaying his body in the most enticing way, waiting for Mickey to display his.

He licks his lips. “Where’s that fuckin’ stupid thing, then?” he asks, flinging the towel in his hands at Ian.

Ian moves to grab it and nods his head toward the dresser which both of the jockstraps are sitting on top of. “Put it on out there, then come into the room. Toss me the lube and a condom first.”

“Now who’s bein’ bossy?” says Mickey.

“My day, remember?”

“Fair enough.”

Mickey grabs the bottle of lube on the nightstand and tosses it to Ian, then tears off a condom packet in the drawer and tosses that too. Then he grabs the black assless underwear and heads to the living room to put them on, shutting the bedroom door and rolling his eyes as he does so. He has to force himself to think of Ian’s selflessness yesterday. His boyfriend was right. They’d both agreed to this, and Ian had held up his end of the bargain more than well. He hadn’t protested at all. Mickey owed it to him to keep his word in return. Besides, he knew it was gonna be hot. Of course he’d seen guys fucking in jockstraps before. He’d just never really thought to try it out himself. He was never all that adventurous before unless he was by himself, using toys. When other people were a part of the equation, he really didn’t see the need for bringing in props. But what the fuck? It was him and Ian. It was gonna be awesome.

He’d actually never worn a jock in his life, and at first he missed one of the leg straps completely, and had to pull it back off. Once he had it on correctly, he made his way to the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and turned around to eye himself over the shoulder.

Damn. The tense straps underneath his butt-cheeks do make them pop out even more than usual. He adjusts them so that they’re right in the creases and squeezing him just right, smoothing down any wrong twists of the fabric. Okay. He kind of gets it now. Ian is gonna flip out. He smiles and stretches his arms and neck a little, getting his head in the game. This is his gift to Ian. All wrapped up in a proper dirty package. He can do this no problem.

In jest, he knocks lightly at the bedroom door when he’s ready.

“Come in,” says Ian.

Mickey’s not sure how he manages to hold in his laughter as he slowly opens the door and leans against the frame with one arm, but he does.

Ian’s breath hitches, even though he can’t even see the main attraction yet. The rest of Mickey’s body may not drive him as wild as his ass does, but it’s still sexy as hell, and he runs his eyes over every curve and muscle of his torso, arms, and legs. He’s a fan of Mickey’s strong thighs in particular. He loves grabbing onto them and feeling their thickness. Mickey’s always had nice legs.

“Come closer,” commands Ian, sitting forward.

Mickey obeys, sauntering in all casual, keeping his back purposefully hidden, and enjoying the way Ian’s eyes are already drinking him in.

“Turn around,” Ian orders once he’s close to the foot of the bed.

Mickey heeds again, slowly turning on his heel, and bending slightly forward just so Ian can see the straps clearly, and biting his lips to keep from chuckling at his lover’s audible moan.

Ian’s eyes almost bug out of his head when Mickey presents his ass, pale white skin framed perfectly by the black strips both above and below it. It’s his favorite picture without a doubt. He files a mental note to make Mickey pose for some photos in the underwear at a later date, then reaches down to palm himself through his gray boxer briefs.

“I’m gonna need that show now,” Ian says lowly. “Squeeze it for me.”

Mickey complies without protest which Ian’s a little shocked by, but very much pleased. He watches hungrily as Mickey takes each ass-cheek in hand, palming his curves, and kneading the flesh the way Ian wants to, then he lifts both cheeks and jiggles them off his fingers. Ian grips onto his own dick, filling up quickly with the blood rushing through him.

“That’s it. Bounce for me. The way you like to bounce on my dick.” Ian’s voice is getting a ragged edge to it now.

Mickey grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and bounces on the balls of his feet. He can feel the way his meaty glutes slap around, and knows his slight embarrassment is worth it when Ian sighs loudly, muttering, “Fuck yeah.” He can hear him reach into his briefs and begin jerking himself.

“Your ass looks fucking amazing like this, Mick. So fucking hot. Getting me so hard.”

Mickey bounces a little bit more, before he just can’t possibly go on without protest, and he really is trying his best to bite his tongue and just let Ian have this.

Ian is dead certain there’s no greater sight in the world than his favorite ass jiggling around in front him this way. There just isn’t. The straps of the jock are doing wonders, like a butt lift without the necessity of surgery. And the way the black bands disappear beneath the creases of that pristine swell. . . it’s fucking heavenly, and Ian kind of wants to cry with joy.

He can tell that Mickey can’t do much more of this, and Ian is eager as shit anyway, so he let’s him off the hook. “Get over here, I need to touch you.”

Mickey smirks over his shoulder, palms his cheeks enticingly one more time, and turns to climb up onto the bed. Ian meets him in the middle of the mattress and crashes their mouths together.

He roams his hands all over Mickey’s upper body, back and front, before making his way to his primary target, reveling in the feel of two large handfuls of ass, squeezing even harder than he usually does. He smiles sexily as Mickey moans into his mouth, hugging him tightly against his body, and kissing him deeply for a minute or two more, before pulling back.

“Hands and knees,” he tells him with a small smack and another squeeze.

Mickey obliges, and Ian moves to position himself behind him.

At first he just stares at the mounds of flesh before him, then he palms them again, running his thumbs down Mickey’s crack, brushing against his hole as he kneads. A wicked grin crosses Ian’s lips again when Mickey pokes his ass out more, and in no time his face is diving forward. He pulls those plump cheeks apart, thumbs resting on either side of his boyfriend’s asshole, and avidly licks between them, dancing his tongue across the opening over and over, eyes wide open and staring at what’s in front of him.

Mickey moans as he feels himself begin to relax into the sensations more and more. His dick starts straining against the cloth of the jock, and he reaches down to tug himself loose from it, stroking lightly.

Ian pulls back from the rimming, breathily narrating what’s to come. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, Mick.” He rubs at his hole with his fingers. “Gonna ride this ass hard.” He starts kneading the flesh roughly again. “Gonna use these fucking straps like reins.” He takes all three bands framing Mickey’s ass in both hands, pulling them together and watching as it bunches the ample flesh together in a mouthwatering way. He groans from the back of his throat. “You want that?”

“Yeah, I do,” says Mickey, aroused, yet slightly suspicious. “But if you fuckin’ shout out ‘giddy-up’ at any point, I will take my ass away and leave you, and probly come back and shoot you in the leg too. You fuckin’ owe me a bullet anyway.”

Despite his heady, turned on state, Ian has to laugh. “Got it.” He takes the right leg strap and snaps it against Mickey in warning. “Now, stop talking.” He takes the left strap and snaps it too.

Mickey yelps, but moans as Ian moves a hand to stroke his cock, half hanging out of the side of the jock. Ian presses against his back and nips at his jawline. “Mmm, you’re so hot like this. I knew you would be.”

“Fuckin’. . . you’re the one who needs to stop talking,” Mickey pants. “Get the fuck on me already.”

“Gladly,” says Ian, kissing Mickey’s face wherever he can.

He reaches for the lube and sits back on his haunches, wetting his fingers and going in with one very briefly, before moving on to two. His eyes never move away from their task, and he smiles when Mickey drops his shoulders down to the mattress. Ian finds his prostate quickly, and moves his other hand to rub against Mickey’s perineum, and his heavy cotton-covered balls.

“Oh, shit,” groans Mickey, partly muffled by the sheets. He hums and moans as Ian keeps the same pressure going on each side of his G-spot, then adds a third finger. “Come on, Ian!”

The redhead wastes no more time, pulling away and reaching for the condom. As soon as it’s on, his dick is prodding around Mickey’s waiting hole. He slicks the rest of the lube in his hand onto the latex first, then pushes in, first taking his partner’s hips in hand and pulling him back onto his erection. He does this until Mickey is looser and they’ve established their familiar rhythm, then he leans back and grabs the waistband of the jock with one hand, using it to leverage himself in and out of Mickey.

His vision is stuck on the sight of his cock thrusting into the tight heated pressure of Mickey’s asshole. It looks so fucking good. Better than anything.

Ian moves his hands to caress and knead the soft, white flesh, then takes hold of all three straps at once, putting even more pressure on his dick. They both moan loudly, the sound bouncing back at them off the walls, and Ian’s grip allows him to move faster and faster until the pace is fucking brutal in the most delicious way.

Reins in-fucking-deed.

“Oh, fuck, Mickey!” cries Ian wantonly.

He can’t stop. It’s so fast, and so hard, and so fucking good. Goddamn, he didn’t know it’d be this good. He’d hoped, but he couldn’t have possibly known. He feels like a man possessed. He’s glad he went with an expensive brand, because otherwise he’s sure the leg straps would’ve snapped off by now. He’s holding on so tightly to them, and Mickey’s ass is just bouncing away on his cock like that’s the only thing it’s ever supposed to be doing.

Sweat is flying everywhere, dripping down from Ian’s face and chest, pooling in Mickey’s tantalizing lower back right above that top band.

Mickey’s brain has officially turned off, on vacation somewhere else while his whole body vibrates with intensity. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he’s pretty sure it’s just a lot of cursing and repeating of Ian’s name. Even if Ian did start spouting off dumbass cowboy quotes right now, he wouldn’t give two shits. He just needs him to keep pounding him with his big dick, just like this. Hard, and deep, and fucking perfect.

Ian continues to watch the blur of his cock fucking into Mickey’s hole, his grip on the jockstrap strong as ever. God, he’ll never get enough of this ass. No way, no how. He’s totally addicted. And now he’s pretty sure he has a big kink to add to their regular rotation of sex acts, because he kind of needs Mickey to be wearing one of these things at all times. He’s gonna buy him one in every fucking color there is.

The pace gets to be a little much, and he’s starting to feel pretty close to the edge. He pulls his hands away, snapping the straps against Mickey, who moans loudly again, then presses Mickey down fully into the mattress, throwing his legs over each of Mickey’s and pushing them together so that Ian’s loosely straddling them as he continues to push himself in and out.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Goddamn. Ian!”

He smiles and kisses Mickey wherever he can. “Yeah. Fucking come for me, Mick. Squeeze yourself on my dick.”

Ian takes Mickey’s hands in his, threading their fingers together, and covering his whole body as he thrusts between his legs. Mickey can’t fucking move, but it’s the best. He’d only ever surrender like this to Ian. He’s sure he’d never be capable of it with anyone else. With Ian, there’s a kind of trust he’s never really known. Never allowed himself to give into. He’s never let his guard down this low.

“Mmm, Mickey,” Ian moans softly, breath hot against his ear. “You’re amazing.”

Ian’s breathing speeds up, and Mickey can feel his own orgasm coming on, as well as Ian’s. It’s this freaky thing they have going on at least half the time now. They’re so fucking in sync that they come together, because their bodies just _know_. And this is gonna be one of those times.

“Gonna come,” Ian still says, completely unnecessarily.

Mickey’s more than ready. His asshole is fucking throbbing with an exquisite burn, and his prostate is pulsing with pleasure, and their moaning has become a harmonized chorus. Whoever starts shooting first is a total toss-up. Mickey sees a flash of white like his brain has leaked out of his head as he makes a mess of the bedspread, as well as the jockstrap, and Ian’s thrusting slows way down as he gives those final pushes inside of his boyfriend, coming hard, and deep, and loud.

Mickey wishes he could see the way Ian’s muscles must be moving beneath the skin of his back and ass as he pumps over him. This is one of those hot pornstar positions Ian sometimes pulls. He clenches down around Ian’s freshly spent cock, loving the long hiss it elicits.

“Little fucker,” Ian giggles into his ear.

Mickey doesn’t have anymore words at the moment.

Ian lies on Mickey’s back for a few more minutes, then carefully pulls out, rolling himself over onto his own back to stare up at the ceiling. Mickey’s face is resting in front of him, eyes closed. His incessant panting matches Ian’s own, and he looks like he’s glowing beneath the sheen of sweat covering his face and body. Ian leans over and kisses the tip of his nose.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Mickey affirms with a little grin.

“Ready for a nap?” Ian says after a pause.

“Mmhmm.” Mickey’s already a hairsbreadth away from dozing off.

“Hey Mick?”

“Yeah?” His voice is so soft, just above a whisper.

“Merry Sexmas.”

His boyfriend laughs almost inaudibly as he fades out of consciousness.

  


* * *

  


Mickey tries in vain to get Ian to settle down and not make a big deal out of the New Year. Simply refraining from dragging him all around town to a million parties is all he really wants, so rather than attempting to coax Ian into a quiet evening at home, he agrees to continue their grand holiday season eventfulness, only this time, they invite everyone they know to come to them at the same place, and celebrate all together. Fuck going to everyone all the time. Those who really cared to see them could drop in whenever they felt like it, and stay however long they wanted. So New Year’s Eve at Mickey’s bar is what it became.

The normally subdued place turns into a packed den of depravity just like every other city bar that one night of the year, and adding Gallaghers into the mix only kicks things up a notch. All of Ian’s legal-aged siblings show up, meaning that apart from Liam, Carl also has to sit this one out, in spite of much bitching and moaning over the fact that his 21st birthday is so close. A matter of a couple of months.

“Still can’t do it,” Mickey had told him just earlier that day when he’d called to beg yet again. “What part of ‘we could lose our liquor license’ do you not understand?”

“That’s a buncha North Side bullshit, man!” Carl had yelled into his ear. “You’ve turned into a fuckin’ pussy! All of us were drinking at the Alibi when we were like 14.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should hit them up tonight, then. Goodbye.”

Ian and Mickey had both been wary of Lip getting around Mandy again and fucking with her head, but that ends up going much better than expected. They catch up like old friends, and Mandy is obviously the most stable of the two in terms of interpersonal skills, because she’s happy with her boyfriend, and not even showing the slightest bit of interest in her old flame. Lip may be the rich one of the two, but Mandy is just as successful in her own field, and Mickey thinks that maybe this kind of encounter is exactly what she needs to really see that. Lip had never been better than her, and she’d done just fine without him in her life. In fact, she’d probably done much better. He kind of hopes she rubs it in his face.

For some odd reason, Mickey makes it a point to introduce Fiona to every halfway decent single dude that works at the bar with him. Ian finds it cute as hell, and it’s how he cottons onto the bond that his boyfriend had begun to form with his eldest sister when he wasn’t paying attention.

While Fiona flirts her way through half the staff that Mickey throws at her, Debbie ends up making out with some dude at the bar before it’s even hit 11 PM, and she remains mostly detached from the rest of them, firmly fixed in her endeavors of chasing dick.

Ian is content just wrapping himself up in Mickey all night, even when his friends pop in for a while to say hi before moving onto the gay bars to ring in midnight. Sometimes Mickey disappears into the crowd to talk to people he knows, and Ian stays behind with Mandy or Fiona or Lip, but his eyes always find that jet black head. Ian’s fucking excited to start the year with him. He can’t wait to see what’ll happen between them, and what all they’ll do together.

New Year’s Eve always has that kind of intangible quality of sheer possibility, but this one in particular, Ian feels it very acutely. Mickey enhances that idea for him. . . that there’s so much more to do and see, and that now is the time, and not later.

Ian looks at Mickey and everything seems to slow down and speed up at the same time. It makes no fucking sense, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to him.

Mickey floors him.

The countdown isn’t too far off now, and Ian’s laughing at something Mandy had just said, when he turns his head to see Mickey winding his way through the throng to get to him.

He has to yell to get Ian’s attention. “Babe! Come over here, I want you to meet someone.”

Around seven months into things with Mickey, Ian suddenly becomes ‘ _babe_ ’ too.

  


****  


*****

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please comment or kudos.
> 
> [❤️ Tumblr ❤️](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/)


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